Did I not say so, Hilary?’ Melusine’s glance shot across to the newcomer, and found a petite blonde standing there, very fashionably attired in a velvet mantel over an apple-green robe, the furred hood framing a face alive with mischief. She was retuning, fifths spilling from the sliver of light underneath the door like milk. Perhaps that sealed letter was a form of confession, and thus relieved him on that score. Even in the daylight, it had a sombre and suspicious air, and seemed to slink back from the adjoining houses, as if afraid of their society. But Blueskin was not to be silenced. ‘And I suppose I shall be obliged to endure another nonsensical tale about your husband. You must think of this evening, John, sometimes—as a sort of atonement.
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